Undead Nemesis, Renewed Existence, After Life
by Jicar540
Summary: A war is being waged against Cassiopeia, a world/ land turned to necromancy. Linear Garde, as one of the soldiers fighting for the Allied Worlds/ Lands, goes through a journey of pain, suffering and love.
1. Ravaged Land

**Undead Nemesis, Renewed Existence, After Life**

_Chapter 1: Ravaged Land_

Lieutenant Garde sat on an upturned crate, planks full of moss and rot, tending to several ugly wounds.

"Damn this bloody war!" a general swore, glowering into his dried beef. "If they want us to fight some goddamned world turned to necromancy, at least they should give us food, not shit."

"You drinking the piss again, Legen?" his fellow general, Polin, asked, earning a chuckle from all. Legen was known for two things: for his ferocity and fearlessness in war, and his alcoholic addiction. Besides, wartimes were bad. Even the least bit of humour was greatly appreciated.

"How else did I survive all these weeks? Alcohol's good for the body. Gives you energy." Saying this, Major General Legen delivered a mixture of alcohol and half-digested food onto the grass, narrowly missing their campfire. The previous contents of the third-in-command's (or second, seeing how the captain of their squadron died from an infected Balrog bite) stomach were greeted with nothing more than another series of laughter from the bored soldiers and disdain from the unofficially-promoted first-in-command.

"Damn, I don't want to clean up your insides. God knows, we've been through countless of monster insides already," Linear Garde sighed. It was a sobering thought. The once highly respected world, Cassiopeia, had turned to necromancy and had allied itself with the dark beasts and fiends that roamed the world. Garde's squadron was merely one of the many that had been sent to annihilate as many of the monsters on Cassiopeia's side before dying. It seemed so pointless to be sent on a suicide mission to kill things that bred like bunnies.

As the regiment gathered around the flames, sinking into a short nap, Linear Garde, taking the night watch, remained on his crate, staring off into the distant background, occasionally sneaking glances at the only female in their group, Karina. She was an eyeful, he thought to himself. Then, his obligations re-asserted themselves and he dutifully returned to his task.

He surveyed the surroundings silently, taking in every detail: the flattened, crushed trees, the glowing stars, and the arced moon, so as to ensure that he would notice a change in the environment if need be. Obviously, he was resigned for a sudden attack.

Sure enough, as he immersed himself in the night symphony, a new sound joined the orchestra: that of a whole Balrog horde, trampling grass underfoot, grunting impatiently, and baying for blood.

His regiment's blood.

I I I

The crescent arc of the moon offered what little light it could to the land below it. It was an ominous sight, framed by circling vultures. Vultures, waiting for their feast of corpses.

A pool of blood glinted iridescently and the moonlight wavered upon reaching it as its surface was destroyed by moving soldiers and beasts alike. As Linear Garde flitted through the ranks of the Balrogs, the pool of blood seemed to expand.

High tide, he thought grimly, as another Balrog fell to a well-aimed swipe of his obsidian dagger. Then, as claws raked the area where he had been a split second ago, he whispered a soft incantation as he melded with the shadows, ducking beneath the rank, putrid blood.

Rising from beneath the blood ocean, he screamed, "Savage Blow!" As his dagger darted across his assailant's chest with both phenomenal speed and surgical precision, he watched the dark eyes of the Balrog fade away. Glancing back, he saw his fellow squadron. It seemed like they needed a little aid, Linear thought sardonically, judging by the stream of dark-winged abominations close to overpowering them.

"Avenger!" as he switched from a dagger to a claw, he gathered his mana and forced his Steelies to bond together as he hurled the enlarged star at the several Balrogs that threatened to encircle his friends. He was, in fact, a path-crosser; he had the abilities of both the bandit and assassin path. His prowess and skill (mainly wealth, actually, but he didn't like to admit that) had earned him that right.

"Urgh, my head hurts…" Legen complained, and after a mere few moments later, the sea of blood was tainted with green mush.

"My, you're certainly in the pink of health," Linear muttered, his sarcastic, biting words drawing some guffaws from the surrounding men. "By the way, you should get off your habit of drink-fighting, unless you've suddenly learned Drunken Boxing."

Then, amidst the loud, raucous laughter of the soldiers, the brief respite from the Balrog attack was gone, as a troop of angered Balrogs roared, menacingly baring their fangs.

The Balrogs seemed to realise that the lieutenant was the main threat, and they charged to him with only a sole purpose in their mind: kill. Garde, shocked, could only cast Dark Sight once more to escape the notice of these fiends.

"Damn it! I thought Balrogs were supposed to be dumb! Do they even have enough brainpower to identify a threat?" Linear muttered. Then, as his hawk-like eyes noticed a hooded figure behind all the Balrogs, he realised that he was generating the message to kill Linear Garde. As the sorcerer twirled his stave in a complicated manner, purple energy swirling around its tip, he shouted, "Reveal!"

Instantaneously, Linear's artificial shadow-melding disappeared, and he found himself stuck in this ugly predicament: stranded in the middle of a circle of drool-generating machines, with no space to shoot a Steely. As he rapidly drew his ebony-coloured dagger, he saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

Only to realise that it was a Balrog, hefting a muscled arm, summoning a dark sphere of necromantic energy.

He dived deep into the crimson liquid, a bitter, metallic taste clogging his throat. As he roughly gauged that he was out of the circle and back with his comrades, he rose, only to realise that he was standing directly behind the dark sorcerer, to his chagrin.

Two thoughts ran through his mind: "Damn, I need a better sense of direction" and then "I could kill this ass". He slowly approached the necromancer, only to trip over the concealed corpse of a Balrog. Falling with a rather deafening splash, he did what anyone would do in this situation.

He swore.

"Bloody hel-" His stream of profanities was abruptly cut off due to a strike on his back with the staff of the sorcerer. He felt his energy seeping away as the staff lingered on his back. Weakened, he could only rise and perform an uppercut with his trusty knife, but the necromancer dodged his blow with amazing deftness. As the commotion attracted the attention of several Balrogs, they charged over, beady eyes smoldering with a crimson fire of rage.

"I could use some help here!" Linear yelled, before the sorcerer started to cast a spell. Then, he drew some energy from the last vestiges of his mana pool, soared high above the dark sorcerer and, whether by accident or design, landed on a Balrog's head. Riding his new dark steed, the unskilled rider crashed into his ride's buddy, and all three landed in a sick mess of blood, most of it the two Balrogs'. His steed, skull all but crushed, died instantly. As the other Balrogs were too astounded to react, he took advantage of this short-lived chance to gulp a few mana elixirs, and as he wiped his mouth to clear the few drops on his chin, several Balrogs awoke from their daze and charged like mindless killers. Which they were, of course.

With no other option, he futilely hurled the empty flasks at his hostile antagonists. Although it was stunning, it hardly inflicted any damage, and the Balrogs grunted, irritated by the fruitless attack.

Casting a simple "Haste", Linear tried to dart between the furry beasts as a last resort. Fortunately, their reactions were too slow for his increased agility. On reaching his comrades, exhaustion overcame him and he clutched his knees for support, the mere effort used to _stand_ becoming hard labour.

"Too… weak… can't… go on…" Garde managed to squeeze a whisper through his fatigue. As he watched his fellow soldiers charge bravely towards the incoming tide of brown, hideous furballs, he saw that dark sorcerer sneaking towards Karina, a dagger in his hands. Renewed with a sudden burst of energy, he dived behind her at the last second.

He felt something enter his body and leave. His world suddenly darkened, with dashes of crimson partially clouding his vision. Feeling sick, he turned his face to see Karina's loving and shocked expression. Just then, the agonizing pain came, and it worsened his sight. Dizzy, he stumbled around, and fell into the shrouds of darkness with joy.

At least, it was painless there.

I II

**A/N: Quite a lot of dialogue here, forgive me.**

"I think his rib is broken."

"Nah, but he sure has a lot of blood. I wonder if all of us do."

"Want me to stab you and see if you've as much blood as him?"

"No, but --- Wait, I think I saw his eyes flicker!"

And so they did. Linear Garde forced open his heavy eyelids, an iridescent mess of colours greeting him. Blinking once, he saw a room, with pristine white walls, two men, and a pile of what seemed like black rubbish. He could only suppose that was either medical equipment or rags.

"Hi, welcome to the world." Legen derided.

"How long have I been out?"

"About twenty days. Fine, just a couple of hours," Polin added hastily as Garde's eyes widened.

"We thought you died, by the way, there was so much blood."

Upon hearing this, Linear looked downwards.

A once-white sheet was stained with what seemed like gallons of red liquid. A wave of nausea swept over him, and he had only just managed to control his oesophagus.

"Are there any doctors here?" he asked, a fruitless attempt at getting some professional medical help, unlike the two madmen before him.

"This is a desolate god-knows-how-many-miles-away-from-civilization battlefield. Yeah, of course there will be doctors. I mean, why wouldn't doctors come to save the dying men so far away?" The sarcasm in Legen's voice was evident.

Just then, Linear noticed that he wasn't wearing his Black Garina, and was draped in some white robes.

"Who redressed me?"

"Er… me. Hey, don't look at me like that; would you rather it be me or Legen? Also, sorry, because I kind of nicked your back while slicing your previous garment up. I couldn't get you out of it," Polin hastily mumbled. Linear listened, with his face flushing red, then finally nodding. Then, as he glanced around the room, his eyes fell on the black heap, and realization dawned upon his slow-reacting mind.

"You tore up my Black Garina?" Rage rioted in the deep abyss of Linear's mind, furious blood boiling in his cheeks as he finally grasped the fact that that was his previous armor lying innocently in a corner, a black pile of crap.

"Well, it was necessary… at least we got some Blue Katinas to make up for it…"

Garde had no words to offer. In the end, the high tide of anger ebbed, and the red had left his cheeks. He sighed, casting his forlorn gaze at the remnants of the armor that he had bought for close to half a million mesos.

During Linear's moment of self-pity, his two trainee medical assistants surreptitiously stole out of the room, leaving an enraged and distraught soldier behind, cursing and swearing.

I II

A day later, the festering wound in Garde's back became infected. Alarmingly, it looked like the same incident which had happened to his preceding captain. He was consequently sent to the nearest medical base.

Every day was a torture. Every minute, every hour, it was all a dreadful nightmare filled with agony. Sometimes, he felt burning hot, like he was ablaze; sometimes, it was cold, the sharp dullness of the chill entering his convulsing body.

On one occasion, whilst in semi-consciousness, he overheard a conversation he was never meant to hear.

"His chances of survival are near zero. The necromancy on the weapon must have been powerful."

"So it's Loredan all over again."

Loredan. His previous leader.

"Most probably."

I II

The necromancy plagued his weak body, clogging up blood vessels and ravaging organs. He could hardly open his eyes now, and when he could, his world was in flashes of white and black.

"Will I live, doctor?" Linear rasped.

"Perhaps." The one-word reply filled Linear with fear, sorrow and melancholy.

"So, I won't?"

"Maybe."

The answers were delivered in deadpan manners. He never managed to get anything more than those.

All the while, fractured images ran through his mind, floating in the dark abyss within. His father, his friends, his brother…

He had to live on for them. He had to.

Everyday, he fought off the pain, clenching his fists and gnashing his teeth. Even as his knuckles whitened, his fingernails bit into flesh and his teeth drew blood, he did not give up. He did not let go.

He could not die.

I II

"Good news for you, Garde! We've found out how to cure you, damn it! This is a medical breakthrough!"

This statement awakened him, and he finally managed to smile after weeks of suffering. As he was wheeled into an operation room, he was filled with bliss. Escape from the pain was near.

As he forced down an anaesthesia pill, his world winked out, and his vision went blank. He felt nothing for an hour or so.

When he woke up, his world was not fissured, nor blurred, but was now totally clear. He felt fitter than ever before.

"Hail Linear Garde, the first survivor of necromantic wounds!" the doctor proclaimed as he saw Linear Garde getting up. The patient grinned in return. He supposed that made him a pioneer of sorts.

There was a training area for newly-recovered patients, and he frequented that area in the weeks leading up to his discharge date. He fought dummies, did aerobic exercise and joined brawls with other men. Due to his aptitude, he normally walked out of those tussles barely harmed.

When he was finally permitted, or perhaps condemned, to return to his battle camp, he was relieved to find out that none of his men had died. Yet.

"All bow down to the almighty man! The man who cheated death!" Legen declared mockingly.

"You forgot suave, lean and dashing!" Linear exclaimed teasingly.

"My, aren't we getting a little proud now? Don't tell me you got some haughtiness injected in you in the time you were away."

"Damn you, man, you're a blessed one," Polin cried. "You went before the gates of Hell and lived! The Devil must be pissed."

The reunion celebrations consisted mainly of the men hoisting Garde up on muscular shoulders, telling jokes and even a little liquor.

"I think Legen drank too much." The statement by Polin was, in fact, very true. His face was scarlet and he was stumbling around, hardly able to see straight.

Linear looked once. "Oh, he's gonna have a bad, bad hangover." He smirked.

I II

Four days after Linear rejoined his tiny platoon, they faced another brutal assault. This time, four men died, and their group dwindled down to five men. Five men, who were probably about to join their fallen comrades in Heaven or Hell.

That very day, while the grieving men and a woman were burying their departed friends, a messenger arrived on a horse.

"May I have your attention?" the messenger asked timidly. The five sorrowful men nodded grimly.

"The Kings of the Allied Worlds have decreed for Loredan Pinoi's troops to launch an attack on the betrayer's castle. They believe that said man's squadron is one of the most powerful, and shall merge with others to form an attack party. Since the castle is now rather undefended, this is the time to strike."

"Loredan died." The short answer shocked the messenger so badly that he nearly fell from his horse.

"Well, then, the Lieutenant, Linear Garde, shall take over as acting captain."

"We treated it so already."

Embarrassed blood rushed to the horse-rider's face, and he mumbled some instructions before he left on his horse.

"Well, men, we have been assigned a suicide mission."

I II

As the various regiments gathered before the Kings in the Aquilian castle, one could see that all the faces held solemn and bleak expressions. They all looked at each other, knowing that there was little chance that each other would survive. All hope was lost for these men.

The Aquilian King briefed the grouped soldiers on their mission, and as the hot, sweaty fighters were grumbling and complaining, a scout came back.

Dread filled Linear's heart. The mission was about to begin.

"I, as the King of Aquila, now command you to raze the castle of my disloyal brother!"

The contingent of about a hundred men now moved across the dead lands, riding valuable horses for speed. The thieves in the party cast Haste, speeding up their movement across the hundreds of miles.

Five hours later, the men unsheathed swords, stringed bows, loaded guns and drew daggers. The castle loomed before them now, and they left their horses behind in a small clearing, not bothering to tether them for the men themselves might not even survive.

Deformed gargoyles of obsidian stood on pillars beside the entrance, fingers curled and outstretched, a clear warning to travelers. Made of dark marble and engraved with several necromantic incantations, the castle was a formidable sight. That was enough, but the fact that the castle itself was hovering was even more terrifying. It was terrifying enough to send chills of apprehension down Linear's spine, at any rate.

While they were approaching the towering fortress, the twin gargoyles sprang to life, pouncing from high above and clawing through the air. The sonic swishes seemed to slice through the distance and formed scars on the chests of some. Those unfortunate people fell to the ground, energy and life being sapped away.

The cacophony of the raging battle rent the once-sweet silence of the night, silencing fluting birds and chirping crickets. All of this was surveyed by the bloodthirsty Cassiopean King, sneering at his enemies' futile efforts.

"So… the three Kings won't come to fight me, because of that brotherly oath? I'll break it for them some day!"

He, complacent as ever, sat jauntily on an armchair, enjoying the mêlée below like how one would enjoy a violent movie. Anyway, it _was _a bloody thriller to him.

When he saw five men sneaking into the castle, their backs guarded by their companions, his smile broadened.

The man wearing a set of second-hand Blue Katinas swore as one of the gargoyles swiped his shoulder. "Damn, my old armor was much better. Legen, screw you."

The five path-crossers journeyed through the perilous maze, Legen at the front with his Fairfrozen, and Linear at the back, wielding his twin daggers. At every corner, the Pirate in their team shot a ricocheting bullet to be safe, and on the third turn, they were not attacked by anything behind the walls, but something underground.

A black arm, swathed in equally black robes, rose from the earth, grabbing the leg of Legen. Cursing, he lunged wildly with his spear, and missed. That did not matter, though.

"Arctic Release!" A thin fissure spread over the marble tiles, creeping over the arm and freezing it momentarily. Tugging hard, Legen inadvertently removed arm from owner. A bloodcurdling howl erupted, loosening some pillars from their supports.

"Oh shit."

The platform above them creaked alarmingly, and the Magician in their party was barely competent enough to hold it up.

"You all have about ten seconds. Venture up! The whole castle won't topple, don't worry!" His staff crackled with bursts of energy as the stone threatened to crush them. Without any further hesitation, Legen led the rest of them up a nearby stairwell, and two flights later, they looked down.

They saw nothing but broken tiles and furniture.

Pity and respect rose in Linear's heart, for this man he hardly knew sacrificed his life to save the rest of them. He saw the Pirate's tears streak down her face. Presumably, they were lovers. His own eyes stung too, but he hardened himself and continued on.

Before long, they reached the top level, where their target probably was. A dark portal separated the hallway they were in and a throne room.

Karina, the archer, examined the portal.

"Sick," she murmured, when she figured out how the portal worked.

A life for an entry.

The Pirate gave herself up. "Anyway, this way, I can be with Nimbus once more…"

As she stood before the sinister portal, the sacrifice was made, and the dark veils unraveled.

"I'll go. Don't make any more sacrifices for a second admission. It's pointless. Go and help out the others below, then tell the Kings what happened. Karina, I love you," Linear whispered. He swiveled his head as he stepped through the innocent-looking doorway, and saw something glinting on Karina's face.

Then, his own tearstained face disappeared behind the dark barrier.

I II

Linear saw a screaming man clutching a hole in his shoulder. His manifestation of wrath was a glare in Garde's direction.

"Stay back, slave." The King of Cassiopeia held out a hand, whilst resting on his chair.

"Would you like to join me for a cup of tea? Things like these are best settled over a coffee table," he smirked. He gestured towards the other seat before him, then raised up his staff at abnormal speeds when a Steely flew towards him in reply.

"Now, now, don't get angry. You don't want to face the punishment," a tinge of annoyance now permeated the condescending tone of his. When yet another Steely flitted across the room, he finally stood up wearily.

"You forced me to do this."

The Cassiopean King encased him and his opponent in a dark sphere. "Now, we shall _fight_." His last word was delivered mockingly, as if he felt that the fight would not last long.

Linear's foe drew a dark, glittering blade. _Get in close when you have the shorter weapon_. That was a lesson drummed in during his bandit training, and had proved useful on many occasions. With a Flash Jump, he landed behind the king and his dagger bit into flesh.

"Sneaky!" With that proclamation, the King swept around and thrust deep into Linear's left arm. Fighting the pain, Linear realised that his adversary had now rendered his other dagger useless. Cramming the daggers in the sheaths hung at his waist, he wore a claw on his right arm instead and hurled three Hwabis. As he was fighting alongside his shadow, the effect was doubled and six flying objects hurtled in the direction of his enemy.

Two landed on their mark: the unprotected neck. With an anguished cry, the King's hand went to his neck, and he sank onto the floor.

"Mercy!"

Linear, now growing smug, sauntered over to the fallen man, dagger in hand.

Said fallen man disappeared into thin air.

"I suppose doppelgangers are new to you."

Turning around on the balls of his feet, Linear was just in time to see his death plunging into him, in the form of a necromantic orb.

For a moment, it briefly illuminated the ravaged land before him: the blood, the gore, the wounded men, the beasts.

Then, it was over.

I II

Death certificates were signed. Tears were wept. But war was war, and life had to go on.

Death certificates were kept. Tears were wiped. Life went on normally.

He was just another man in the death count, after all.

Just another man.

**Author's Note:**

Finally! I've got myself another non-oneshot story. It might turn out to be an epic fail, like The Flaming Ascension, but, meh.

Because of the giveaway title, you all will probably know what's going to happen next. But not the whole story, so too bad.

Sorry if I refer to Linear's whole group as men, although there's Karina. I kind of added her last minute when I realised that a little romance might do some good.

The acronym for the title, UNREAL, was intentional.


	2. Betrayal

**Undead Nemesis, Renewed Existence, After Life**

_Chapter 2: Betrayal_

There is a world to keep the dead, the many souls that departed their own world.

There, in that world of Death, dead men live as tiny, divided atoms, each of them hovering about uncertainly.

One would need to harness an inordinate amount of energy to bring back the dead, to reunite those split particles of life. That is why the legend of Unreals is widely believed as untrue.

Unreals are dead men who have been revived, in a sense. They are the living dead, with their atoms linked together once more. Their organs have long wasted away, and thus they continually require blood to fuel their body.

If one puts stock in the myths, the first Unreal, a great necromancer, was born by chance. While his molecules randomly drifted about, they, through some nigh impossible occurrence, bonded together and he was thus brought back from the dead. Once he realised what had happened, he perfected a ritual which used his power in the dark arts, and he controlled the energy released to raise the dead. As Unreals are most likely unable to be killed, that necromancer probably still lives on somewhere.

This particular legend is possibly formed by mothers trying to prevent their children from wandering outside on dark nights, because the dark necromancer would prey on anyone who crossed his blood-spattered path.

Thus, Unrealism is, as its name states, unreal.

I I I

A dark, grim mood spread over the congregation, grief surging in their hearts. After all, they were members of a funeral service.

Here they were, gathered around a small mound - Linear's small mound. As the relatives and close friends of the deceased went up one by one, to give a short eulogy, Karina felt a growing sorrow within, surreptitiously stealing over her heart.

"My son, Linear Garde, was a great man. He willingly gave his life for a chance for our forces to win. He has made the great sacrifice of life for us. May he be blessed in the Heavens," a solemn Jasten Garde declared. Stepping down from a tiny stone plinth, one could see the reflected tears in his eyes.

A certain salty moisture clouded Karina's vision, causing her to trip as she got up the steps. Stumbling onto the ground, she hastily stood up and started her speech.

"Linear was a likeable person…"

_His smile, his laughter, his every action…_

"Who possessed the highest degree of bravery…"

_Racing into a swarm of Balrogs, brimming with courage…_

"And he showed care to his fellow peers…"

_He took the stab for her…_

She broke into silent sobs as she left the platform, unable to control herself.

After all, she pretty much lost a lover.

I I I

Linear was hovering in darkness, blind to the fact that he was, in some respects, conscious. He was not fully unconscious, yet not the opposite either. After all, he _was_ split apart.

Roughly a week had passed, and the separate pieces of Linear were still floating. He was unaware of anything. He could not feel.

Just then, his atoms swirled around in a complicated manner. A pattern was forming. A human-shaped pattern.

His molecules were jolted, and he regained sentience. All was dark before him.

Firstly, he realised that he could not breathe. After all, who would put breathing holes in a coffin? But then, he did not know where he was.

With a sudden rush of vigour, he pushed away something before him, something cold, hard and unfeeling. He realised that it swung on hinges.

As it was shoved away, a flurry of soil crushed down on him, and he clawed his way out madly, and stood up when he got rid of the wet dirt.

The first thing he saw was a strange object, made of grey stone and rounded at the top, not unlike a thumb shape. He looked behind, only to see an old, weary man. The stranger motioned for him to look at the gravestone, for that was what it was.

He saw his name on it.

"What the…" After making that shocked exclamation, the memories flooded back to him. The Cassiopean King, the doppelganger, the spell that killed him…

He whirled around quickly. "What happened? Tell me!" Linear demanded of the man. Through his confusion, he could not make any sense of why he was living.

"I assume you have heard of Unreals?" the old man asked.

He knew it. After all, his father often told him that story in his childhood, due to his mischievousness. He always played outside even after twilight hours, and his father had to make sure that he did not roam too far away.

Then, he got the man's meaning.

"I'm an Unreal?" The man nodded.

"I am your sire," he replied. "I brought you back to this world."

"Why not others? Why did you pick me?"

"Well, you looked like you had a really short life." The old man gestured towards the gravestone, _his _gravestone, once more. On it was engraved:

Linear Garde. Lieutenant of Regiment A, Son of Brigade Commander Jasten Garde. 1610 – 1630.

A brave soldier who gave his life for the sake of the worlds. May he stay in our hearts forever, and may his courageous spirit live amongst us.

"Twenty years is a pitifully short time to live, isn't it?"

Linear only nodded gloomily, brooding over the events that had happened so far.

"I'm an Unreal…" Linear whispered quietly.

Running on all fours, he fled his sire, in search for his old army, his old life.

I I I

It was a cold and frigid night. The first frost had spread over the land already, a harbinger of the chilling winter that was about to come. Looking above, one could see the various birds beginning their migration to flee the harsh coldness.

A dark figure, his breaths condensing into tiny clouds, drew closer to the Aquilian Castle with every step he took. Upon arrival, the man panted a few streams of mist, rested his hands on his knees and bent over, gasping for air.

"Name and purpose?" the rather bored guard asked drearily.

"Linear Garde, Lieutenant of Regiment A, son of Jasten Garde. I wish to seek the King." Garde swept his matted jet-black hair away from his equally shadow-coloured eyes.

Seeing the badges on Linear's tattered armor, the guard knew better than to question this stranger. He opened the gates and motioned for him to wait on a bench beside the door. Sitting on the edge of his seat, Linear Garde was waiting impatiently. He wanted to return to his army. After all, with his immortality, he could help tip the balance in favour of the Allied Worlds.

After several minutes, the flustered-looking guard ushered him to a small, bare room. It was empty save for an oaken table and a chair of the same material. Once more, he had to wait till the King finally arrived.

The white regal robes he wore directly contrasted his dark skin, tanned several shades blacker by the sun. Glitters shone off the sapphires on the King's royal crown, itself made of nothing other than gold. Linear immediately rose up from his seat and bowed, as protocol demanded.

Receiving the bow with a mere wave of his hand, the King stood before him, his hands placed on the table. Linear was instead sitting on the chair. Perhaps the short and stocky man wanted to establish dominance and superiority over the taller Linear Garde through a height difference. The latter certainly felt like a criminal, with the Aquilian ruler being the interrogator.

"Who are you?" the seemingly irate monarch barked.

"Me? Linear Garde!" the ex-soldier replied, surprised by the King's taciturn and impatient manner.

"You can't fool me with your lies! I know you're not Linear Garde. He has died! You are just an infiltrator from Cassiopeia wanting to penetrate our ranks!"

"No! I'm now an Unreal, I am immortal! I can help you fight against Cassiopeia!"

"I wasn't born yesterday!" Aquila's leader snarled. "Stop with your claptrap! Guards, take this liar away to the holding area!"

Before the flabbergasted Linear could do anything, he was bound in manacles and several sentries gruffly shoved him to a place where they used more shackles to secure his wrists, neck and ankles to a wooden cross. There they left him, as he protested desperately.

He felt so wronged. He just wanted to help his world, but they did not want his assistance. And they held him prisoner, at that. He tried to get free from his chains, and failed miserably. The sore injustice he felt stirred a tiny spark of anger, and it lit up in his heart.

His world had let him down. What could he turn to?

I I I

He was sleeping. Peacefully sleeping.

It was neither light nor birdcalls that roused Linear from his slumber, but a storm of lead.

He was awakened by the sharp pain and his own screams. He glanced down at what was once his shirt, rent to shreds by metal bullets. Yet, even though he felt the agony and could see the bullet holes in him, no blood oozed out of the wounds. He was sickeningly reminded of his Unrealism.

Just then, the pain abruptly stopped, along with the whistling sound of coursing bullets. He looked up, only to see a grim-looking firing squad of eight Gunslingers, carefully reloading their guns. He thrashed around wildly, but to no avail. Strong as he was, due to the necromancy in him, he could not break metal with bare hands, as he was weakened. He could not bear to think about it, but it was his lack of blood which caused his powers to abate.

Lances of pain erupted on his chest once more. Frustration spelt itself out on the gunners' faces as they frowned due to their inability to kill their target. Linear was immortal, after all. However, immortal as he might have been, he could not be spared the pain.

Each piece of metal penetrated skin, and was embedded in soft flesh. Each piece of metal hurt him, both physically and mentally.

Each piece of metal, it stoked the raging flame of fury in him.

I I I

"Freaking all-out war got declared on Cass, dammit!"

Polin woke up the survivors of his group with this alarmingly loud declaration. He swore for a few seconds, told his group the meeting place for all the soldiers, and started to prepare a meal of venison. The deer he hunted down last night provided not only food, but also its skin which could be used to patch up their tents.

Karina rubbed her closed eyelids, a purplish circle forming around each of them. The lack of sleep was apparent from the somewhat-drowsy way she walked, her intermittent yawning and the fact that her eyes remained half-closed even in battle.

Legen, the current leader of the twenty-man group (as they joined up with a few other regiments), stayed in his tent, turning over to face the back of it. He was just too exhausted to wake up.

Shaking him, Polin yelled in his ear, "Wake up, you lazy asshole! If we hurry, we can get there in five days' time!"

"Who would want to hurry and face death early?" Legen murmured sleepily. _And shorten my time with Karina_, he thought silently. He had been carrying a torch for the lady too, but knowing of Linear's affection for her, he stepped back in the romance war. Now that Linear had passed away, he could finally approach her. Yet sadly, war got in the way of untimely love.

"We'd get killed by the King instead if we didn't rush there on time. Deadline's a week later, and we might be accused of treachery or betrayal if we don't go."

Legen walked out of his temporary abode, stretching his arms. He felt a soothing relief from the numbness than plagued his body just moments before. As he cast his gaze around, he saw what seemed like the horizon rising, a dark, dark horizon. And it was heading towards them.

"He'll have to queue up to kill us."

I I I

Monstrous roars and echoing battle cries resounded about the tiny valley the battlers were in. Claws and teeth met metal as the fight raged on. The defenders were staving off their enemies, but still the fiends charged forth, a tidal wave rippling thunderously. Arrows were launched from the back ranks, but even well-placed arrows were, essentially, twigs with sharpened ends, and they could do little to help turn the tables.

Thick in the fight, the warriors and pirates were hacking at the brutal attackers furiously. They did manage to kill some, of course, but for every monster killed, another rose to take its place.

Black, black as the night sky, the Crimson Balrogs wielded sharp, venomous claws, had eyes which glowed like fire and fangs that glistened with blood. Unleashing their inbred hatred for humans, they slew the pitiful soldiers. Blades and claws formed a dance, a morbid dance of death.

"We magicians shall try to initiate a mass teleport! Fight for a little longer!"

Legen was suffering from a few minor wounds. Fighting back-to-back with Polin, they let loose all the might they had to hold back the enemy. He could feel his friend's heart beating furiously against his back. Trepidation also forced his own to palpitate fiercely.

A small ring of Balrogs surrounded them, and Legen's watchful eye peered at each of them, waiting for a sudden movement. After all, they could not attack, due to inferiority in numbe-

_A claw was thrust out at him!_

With little time to react, he hastily held up his shield, hoping that the metal frame would hold. It did, but it looked almost unrecognizable. And he felt an unpleasant jarring sensation on his left arm.

"So, you wrecked my shield, eh? I guess I'll have to fight two-handed sword style now!"

He placed his left hand just below his right on the hilt, slashing at the brown arm that was too slow to be withdrawn. The authority behind the blow was so great that he severed the portion of the arm before where he struck. As one of the Archmages had imbued his Sparta with ice energy, the stump protruding from the shoulder froze, and gradually the whole body. With a quick backhand slash, he smashed the frozen corpse into myriad pieces.

Now, another Balrog attacked. And another. And another. He was, to put it in words, overwhelmed. A flurry of claws headed towards him. Without a shield, he held his sword out horizontally, his left arm placed on the other end of the blade for support. The claws glanced off the metal, and new blood stained the blue blade. Some of it was his own, of course, as the Sparta actually sliced through his gauntlet, biting into his fleshy palm.

He fiercely held back a cry of pain, and gritting his teeth, he quickly switched to his Fairfrozen with the time he had bought. With a shout of "Dragon Roar!", the brutes before him were cleared out, along with the ones behind attacking Polin. The latter man had no time to thank him, for more of the monsters advanced cautiously.

The effect of his previous attack had greatly drained his energy, and exhaustion caused his brain to clog up a little. Another swipe was aimed at him, and too tired, he had to resort to ducking.

A spray of blood spurted out somewhere behind him, and when he stood back up, he could no longer feel the tremor of Polin's heart.

I I I

Legen held out for a little while. After that, he was enveloped in blue light, and the whole faction of soldiers was teleported to a place tens of miles away. He sank to his knees there, grieving for the loss of his friend. And the worst thing was, _he _caused Polin to die.

He was a murderer, a betrayer. He killed his friend.

Karina went over to comfort him. No one else did, for of his old group of men, only he and Karina survived. She patted his back softly, pretending not to notice the few tears from him that melted the snow.

"I killed Polin…" he choked.

"No, you didn't. The Crimson Balrog did. Not you."

He continued weeping silently, the girl he loved squatting beside him. First Linear, then now Polin. Maybe he was a jinx. Maybe he also caused Linear's death.

Caught up in morose thoughts, he fainted, due to grief, lethargy and guilt.

I I I

Scars criss-crossed his chest, scars made by tearing bullets.

Once, they even tried to hang him, and he could still feel the raw wound on his neck.

Linear lived through everything the Aquilian King could throw at him: guns, hangings, even beheadings. His head could not be detached from the rest of his body, the blade only passing through partially. It hurt like hell, though.

He wasn't bored, even if he had nothing to do. How do you feel bored if you live through tons of executions? Pain chased away his boredom in a very bad way.

A way that he loathed, and he could only blame his tormentor for it.

King Argus.

His previous unwavering loyalty had disappeared, and in its place was abhorrence. Abhorrence for the Allied Worlds, and especially for that cruel Argus. He would pay.

He really would.

I I I

The magicians in Legen's party were drained of mana everyday. Even though the mass teleports were infrequent, the two men and one woman could not move twelve people other than themselves without totally tiring themselves out.

One of the male archmages had just died from mana loss. Now, two days after that grueling fight, they were twenty miles from their destination, and could not travel there quickly enough to meet the deadline.

Legen hardly cared anymore.

Existence was cruel. Life was death-filled. Why, in life, was there so much pain and suffering? Demise reigned all around him. His men were half-dead. He himself was like a zombie; he shambled mindlessly, almost uncaring, almost unaware of the world around him. What difference was there between him and the poor souls that haunted El Nath's Mines?

I I I

Ebony skies were lit by the weak, paltry glow of the full moon. Arrows of shining light fell through a maze of metal bars, a shadowy tattoo momentarily being formed upon Linear's upturned face.

Chains rattled as he brought his arms up to touch the heavenly glow, and a pale, bloodless finger reached out of his window grille to touch the outside world, to touch freedom.

He could taste it in the air.

The moonlight shining upon him wasn't burning, or painful. It was strangely empowering and made him feel… godly.

Everyone knew about the intimate relationship between Unrealism, night, and the moon.

Adrenalin pumped throughout his body, and strength coursed through his veins once more. It felt like blood, even though none ran through his body now.

It would though, in a few minutes' time.

Chains rattled again.

His face contorted into one of vexation and extreme effort. His muscles bulked as he tried to break the metal that bound him.

A small pant escaped from Linear's mouth.

Heavily-tempered steel broke apart, a ringing tone echoing about his cell.

Eyes glowing a faint scarlet, the blood-hunger racked his flesh, and that intense craving flooded his mind. His tongue ran over his dry, chapped lips as he grinned, a fierce, humorless grin.

It was time.

**Author's Note:**

!w00t! I haven't updated in a long time, nor have I posted any stuff at all. I have been suffering from: Bored Of Randomly Entering Documents Of Mine, Then (Yippee) Perpetually Exiting, LOL, also known as BOREDOM TYPE LOL.

I am epicly lame, with a retarded fascination for acronyms. Hey, I took quite a while for that. And I took even longer for UNREAL. Anyway, I have been suffering from writer's block (I think).

This sucks. And anyway, I will edit chap 1 before making chap 3, cos chap 1 is weird. I shall edit according to marco's review (Thank you marco).

Linear is evil, bwahahas.


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